((I first started this story after I read the manga 'Punch!'. I am ashamed to say that I haven't been giving it the attention that it needs. redface The more feedback that I receive on the first few entries will help to get the story going again, so comment damn you! evil twisted COMMENT!!!!!!!! evil twisted ... dramallama dramallama dramallama dramallama dramallama dramallama dramallama Anyhow, I hope you enjoy!!!))
It’s odd how some things happen, how your legs seem to move on their own down a path that you rarely use, how you seem drawn towards a certain place at a certain time. That is what happened to her on the day that it all started. She had been drawn to this hallway, the one that led only to her next class but nowhere else. The hallway almost no one besides the new kids and the rejects used…well when it was put like that she couldn’t believe that she didn’t use this hallway more often, but that isn’t the point. She was near the middle of the irritatingly long corridor when she heard the sounds of a fight, and a very one-sided fight by the sounds of it. She knew that she should just turn around, leave and use the main hallway and be late for class.
But for some odd reason her legs refused to move, even when she heard the familiar sound of the dull thump of a fist coming into contact with flesh and the radiating pain that came from behind the wall. Her eyes had closed on their own violation and when she opened them she found that her feet had finally taken it upon themselves to move, but not in the direction she had wished to go. Her hand was resting gently on the doorknob, pressing down slightly until the incredibly quiet click signaled that the door was open. She pushed it open and walked through the doorway, fully ready to sprint from the room if anything threatened her wellbeing. She saw three guys, tall, all around 6’5”, a good 5-7 inches higher than her, standing over the crumpled, sitting form of another. The standing ones were laughing and jeering at the slumped form, who was clutching his upper left arm.
She knew that she had to get out of there before they saw her, all her instincts were screaming at her “Go, run, get your a** outta here!’ but then the one on the floor raised his eyes and froze as he saw her. The pupils were dilated from the pain and the irises were a deep shade of violet, almost black, and when they met her silver-flecked black eyes they stopped for a moment before flicking to the door, then back to her, then back to the door before returning to the floor. But for all his apparent concern about her safety his violet eyes were cold, no warmth reflecting in their depths, just a frozen look that never changed; unlike the eyes of his attackers. She recognized it instantly, and she knew it well.
She saw it in her father’s gym, in the eyes of all the men who came to train. It was the love of fighting; the rush of adrenaline that it pumped through your system when you were hit, the power that it brought you until your opponent was down and your fight was over. She had learned early in life to hide from that look and that instinct had served her well in all of her eighteen years of life. Today, it seemed, was the day that her body had chosen for open revolt against said instincts. She was moving again, this time towards the group, and she had already taken one down by the time she realized that her body was moving on it’s own again. The two remaining had frozen, looking at the one she guessed was possibly their leader, before looking at the thin, wasted-looking form of the girl in front of them, a girl who looked as if she would crumble away if she received so much as the lightest tap, a girl who looked as if she couldn’t even beat a dead fly in a fight. The remaining two looked at each other and grinned before charging her; eager to finish the fight she had begun. Again her body moved on it’s own, dodging several blows and kicks that could have broken, or shattered, some of the more important bones in her body. Her foot lashed out as she ducked away from another punch aimed at her face and she closed her eyes as her foot connected with her attacker’s stomach and he collapsed with a sharply expelled breath. Her eyes jumped open again as a fist connected with her cheekbone, knocking her back a few feet before she regained her balance and wits, both of which had been scattered about at the sharp contact.
She felt something warm run down her cheek and knew that the impact had split the skin. Fear and rage ran through her blood in equal amounts, making her more focused on the fight. She kicked the one who had punched her in the stomach and then kneed him in the face when he doubled over. She turned away from him as he hit the floor, blood exploding from his nose, and faced her newest opponent. He was only an inch or two taller than her and he looked like a fighter, his weight shifted forward, calm and relaxed. And there was that damn spark as well, the thing that always meant trouble or her, no matter whose eyes it was in. She wavered as the fear overpowered the rage for a moment, but that moment was enough for the fear to take control and for him to attack.
((P.S. If any of you use this story OR its characters without my permission I will have to hunt you down and torture you for manymany days! twisted twisted twisted ))
Ironically_Innocent_Demon Community Member 
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